


In Presence of My Foes

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Demons, Gen, Music, Poetry, Psalm 23, iron age Israel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 07:37:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20578868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: Crowley checks out a young singer, and is glad to see he's no threat to his plans.





	In Presence of My Foes

"The Lord is my shepherd," the young man sang, his fingers dancing over the strings of his lyre, "I shall not -"

"I can assure you," Crowley said, glaring at the sheep coming near to listen, "Heaven has one use for sheep, and that's barbeque. They just love the smell up there. Maybe a different metaphor?"

"I shall not want," the young man sang stubbornly. "He makes me lies down -"

"More like squashes you flat, and these pastures are more yellowish-brown than green and that water is, hmm, let's go with _filled with silent menace and demons_* rather than _still._"

"How did you know the next line?" the young man, whose name would come to be recorded as David, said. "I haven't decided on the final wording yet!"

"I've listened to a _lot_ of poets," Crowley said. "You get the hang of it after a while. What's with this _Oooh, get me, I'm a lowly sheep before Up There_, anyway? Your dad is a wealthy landowner! You're no more a poor shepherd than I'm Helen of Troy." He briefly wished he were back in Troy, and that there was still a Troy to be back in. Blessed Bethlehem, he thought. What a dump. If he didn't _have_ to be here, getting ready to foil Aziraphale's attempts to thwart _him_ \- ugh. It all got so exhausting. Why couldn't the angel just say _You win, the king's a fruitcake_?

A stealthy and foolhardy sheep interrupted Crowley's caravan train of thought by nosing at his belt pouch, as if he were the kind of demon who might keep treats for animals. It fled when he thought hard enough about just how hungry he was.

"Who's Helen of Troy? Look, it's a poetic device, and I didn't ask some fancily-dressed Canaanite who imagines himself a poet to give me constructive criticism anyway."

"Suit yourself," Crowley said and pointed to a dust cloud on the road below. "Those are men are coming to take you to Gibeah to sing for King Saul. An evil spirit has been troubling him and they've come to find music to tame the savage beast." He grinned at David. "I love misquoting that guy. It drives a friend of mine up the wall."

"What? Wait, has the king really been troubled?"

"Oh, yes," Crowley said, his eyes on the approaching royal messengers. "Excellent work, if I do say so myself. The poor man's gone more cuckoo than a Swiss tourist shop." He waved away David's querying look. "You have time to finish your sheep song," he said. "I like the tune – I think it might be effective in calming the spirit down when I, er, it hears it. You've got talent – make up some cheerful dance tunes too, you never know what the spirit might want to hear." He stood up and dusted his tassled skirt down. Time to go; he'd learned all he needed to, and the messengers sent by Aziraphale weren't here for him.

"I'm stuck on the ending," David said. "Go on, give me some constructive criticism."

Crowley turned, a considering look on his face. What _would_ the angel say? He just could not wait to find out.

"How about a bit of poetic irony and appealing to royal egos? The king is very generous when he's sane, but when he's not, well - let's just say you'd want to hide from his _generosity_ like a lamb hides from wolves."

"Surely goodness and mercy will pursue me all the days of my life," David sang, trying out the metre.

"There you go. I will see you in Gibeah, young man."

"And I will dwell in the House of the Lord for ever," David finished.

Crowley applauded and strolled down the hill. Halfway down he yelled back, "Of course, if you're a sheep, that's not going to be for very long. When you come to Gibeah, David ben Jesse, you should learn to be a wolf." 

He went on his way, laughing to himself. He had nothing against young men with nice singing voices, but the boy wouldn't last out the week.

* There had been at least one demon in the watering hole earlier, when Crowley had had a nice dip at sunrise.


End file.
